To Be Remembered
by LeDbrite
Summary: A three part collection of one-shots focusing on the theme of "the Death of Durin's Heirs" i. It'll Be All Right: A Fili and Kili death scene. ii. These Things Shall Never Die: Thorin's Death. iii. Some Folk We Never Forget: Bilbo's return to the mountain and his remembrance. Plus, some bonus scenes. No slash.
1. It'll Be All Right

**.I. It'll Be All Right**

Touching his forehead to his brother's, Fili bit his lip as pain assailed him. Kili gripped his arm, holding on tightly, his face pale under the grime of blood and dirt.

"We did it?" Kili asked hoarsely, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

"Yes, we did it," Fili answered raggedly. "Thorin is all right.

Far overhead an eagle screamed, prompting the memory of when they had flown on eagles to rise to his mind; and for a spell it was enough to drown out the sound of battle around them, stirring the dead embers of hope to life in Fili's heart. But that had been in another part of their tale; the eagles weren't there, they were far away on their eyries.

Beorn's roar drowned out all other sound, even the imaginary eagle cries, as Fili became aware once more of the battle he was in. He didn't need to look around to see the wounded and dying that were strewn over the ground, or how those who were still hale were fighting. It didn't matter anymore, man, elf, dwarf, they were all one and the same now, fighting in the same battle against a common enemy. Although Thorin had been carried out of the fight (Fili had had enough wits to watch Beorn carry his uncle away, even as he received a blow to the head), the dwarves continued fighting, and now Beorn had come back to help finish it off, but Fili didn't see how there could be any hope for their victory.

Aware as he was of all this, his eyes never left his brother's face; for Kili was one of the wounded, just as he was, but he feared that his brother's time was coming faster then his.

Blood had mixed with the stony ground of the mountainside, turning it to mud. It was impossible to say whose blood it was, Kili's, his own, an elf maybe, or an orc, but that didn't stop Fili from rubbing his fist in it and plastering it on the worst of Kili's wounds, hoping on some vague hope to staunch the flow of blood. He wasn't a physician, but he prayed that the mud would help the blood to clot. He was oblivious to his own wounds that bleed freely; he had long ago (how funny it is that minutes can become forever ago in the right circumstances) become insensitive to the stinging pain in his side and back, ignoring the nettling bites where arrows had pierced through to the skin. If he could stem the flow of blood, if he could save Kili, spare him from the sleeping cold that reached for him, it would be enough.

Kili reached up and wiped away a trickle of blood that was about to drip into Fili's eyes, his brown eyes urgent and his motions weak. Already his strength was failing him and even the simplest of gestures were becoming too much for him.

"Is it enough?" he panted. Waving a hand limply, to take in the scene around them, he pressed on, his tongue flicking out a moment to dab at the blood that seeped from the corner of his mouth. "Was it worth it?" His eyes closed and his brow furrowed as he fought to drag in the breath that would allow him to finish speaking. "What about us?" he whispered. "Will it be all right?"

Using his hand to wipe away the blood that leaked from Kili's mouth, Fili met the plaintive brown eyes with his own hardly concealed pain. What mercy would save them now? Even now, he could feel how his body was failing him, how his heart faltered with pain from blood loss and for his brother's imminent death. Everything was futile! They'd set out to reclaim a mountain, knowing that in doing so they faced death, but it had been the dream of a lifetime to accompany Thorin on his quest. Yet the dragon was dead and death still found them!

No tear left his eye or gasp of pain escaped him, though the pain in his chest grew heavy; stooping low, he pressed his lips to the top of Kili's head then cradled him close. "It will be all right," he murmured, as if his words could make untrue the inevitable, rocking his younger brother gently as everything dimmed around them. "It'll be all right."


	2. These Things Shall Never Die

**.II. These Things Shall Never Die**

Sounds of battle rose from the plains below, awaking his blood, making his pulse pound as his heart beat a staccato tempo of war. Securing the last of his armor, Thorin stood proudly at the head of his assembled dwarves. Though they were only twelve, fear was not in their countenances. Looking to their leader, their eyes were steady, their hearts certain; they would follow him, even to the death if need be.

In the flickering torchlight their armor gleamed, and Thorin couldn't have wished for a braver lot then these who had stood at his side through many adventures. The words he had spoken to Balin (on that long ago day in the Shire at Bag End) still held true.

_"Loyalty, honor, a willing heart; I could not ask for more than that."_

Eager to fight, he matched his company's building excitement with his own, meeting their eyes, as he held aloft his sword in glorious splendor. At his signal, the stonework was thrown down, and a trumpet blared (picked up by one of his dwarves from among the treasure of Erebor), and the front gate was open. Leaping down with a shout, they charged the enemy's ranks.

oOo

The camp was silent, heavy with sorrow and pain, the only sounds coming from the wounded and dying. No celebration brightened the day, victory had been won but at a steep price. The remnants of Thorin's company huddled outside their leader's tent, already grieving though their king yet breathed.

Time ticked sluggishly, seconds disappearing into nothing, leaving no memory of anything to mark its passing. Only the dying flicker of candle flame, giving the appearance that it was floating in its puddle of wax, marked the passing hours just as it was the only light in the tent. Leaning forward to light another fresher candle, Balin sat back in his seat with a sigh. His limbs were stiff after sitting for so long, but he was determined to continue his vigil until the end. Dark shadows filled the corners of the tent, concealing the rough texture of the cloth'en sides, and half masking Thorin's face. But in the candlelight, Balin could see enough of his king's face to tell that he yet lived.

Deep in sleep, almost beyond the point of consciousness, Thorin walked in dreams. In them, he relived the battle, once again striking down his foes as he single-mindedly fought to get to Azog, oblivious to those who followed in his wake, defending his back and shielding his sides though they fell in the effort.

oOo

_ Watching as Fili helped Kili put on his armor, while Kili passed a sword over to Fili, Thorin almost smiled. They reminded him so much of how he had been with his brother. Through the many years since Frerin's death, Thorin hadn't been able to shake off the feeling that the presence who used to guard his back was gone. But Frerin wouldn't have been content to wait the slow years until they were unable to try reclaiming the mountain; in that way he was happier in death._

_…_

_ "Keep them safe, bring them home," Dis had pleaded._

_ "I can't treat them differently from anyone else on this journey. They need to prove themselves," Thorin had pointed out._

_ "Then leave them here," Dis argued._

_ Thorin sighed. "They are willing to come; I cannot deny this opportunity."_

_…_

_ He hadn't been able to promise her at the time that he could protect them, and he certainly couldn't guarantee it now._

_oOo_

Once more, he could see the pale orc's face as his fell eyes glanced upon him. He felt his sword's response, as if it were a living thing, as it cleaved into his enemy's flesh. Then awareness dimmed, and all he knew was the fighting and reacting as he battled Azog. Pain crippled him as Azog's spear found its mark, piercing his chest, but he fought on, his one thought to bring his foe down.

oOo

_ Striding down the leveled trunk of the fallen pine, fire licking the branches around him, Thorin faced his foe. Desperate to reach Thorin, his dwarves struggled to pull themselves onto the girth of the trunk, but he didn't see their efforts. Boughs snapped under their weight, pine needles slapping their faces as the branches whipped back into place._

_ Flung to the ground, consciousness slipping away, Thorin lay helpless and unarmed while Azog gloated over him. He barely registered when Bilbo (to the amazement of all) came to his rescue; he wasn't aware when Fili and Kili, followed closely by Dwalin, charged the orcs; and afterward, he remembered nothing of the flight with the eagles._

_oOo_

Black descended on the dream, becoming gray like the breaking of the dawn, and he was in Erebor, gazing triumphantly over his gathered people. All those who had been displaced by the destruction of Smaug had come back; were home. A resplendent light bathed the scene in splendor, a splendor more glorious then what he had known in his youth. It was a dream fulfilled.

oOo

_ Holding up the key, Thorin said, "From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day that the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me."_

_ Balin nodded. "Then we are with you laddie. We will see it done."_

_oOo_

Everything appeared the way it had before the dragon's destruction, Erebor had been restored to its former glory, and all was well. On his head was the crown of his father's, from his hand sprang the white light of the Arkenstone; he was King Under the Mountain! Holding it aloft, he only half heeded the cheers of his people as his gaze settled upon his company, his trusted companions. There was Dori, Nori, and Ori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, Oin, Gloin, and Dwalin and Balin (faithful Balin). Not surprisingly, the hobbit was there too, loyal Bilbo who had never wanted to come on the journey anyway. But clearer than the rest were his nephews, Fili and Kili. As his gaze rested on his sister's sons, the light of the Arkenstone washed out everything else, yet unlike everything else (for the rest had faded into whiteness), Fili and Kili stayed with him. Leaving the Arkenstone behind, he stepped forward and embraced them, and as they stood there, faces close together with smiles on each of their faces, Thorin's heart filled with a gladness that he had never known in life.

oOo

Exiting the tent, Balin looked up sorrowfully as Dwalin stood up. Evening had fallen in pastel colors, silhouetting the Lonely Mountain and hiding the ravaged lands about it. The rest of the dwarves looked up anxiously, the traces of tears about their eyes.

"How is he…?" Dwalin's voice trailed off.

"The king is dead," Balin replied heavily.

Dwalin bowed his head, hiding his tears. Ori turned to Dori, while Nori placed a hand on each of his brother's shoulders. Bofur took off his hat, his expression forlorn. Oin nodded and sighed, lowering his hearing-trumpet, while Gloin wiped away a tear. Bifur sat with an incomprehensible expression, the grief had yet to sink in. Twin sets of tear tracks made their way down Bombur's face as he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

Turning away from his comrades pain, Balin spotted two clothe covered figures resting nearby. His heart deceived him, unwilling to believe what he already knew. Drawing back the white fabric from their faces, Balin gazed at the youthful faces of Fili and Kili, and new pain stabbed his heart. In death, their faces were peaceful, as if asleep. Until now he had hoped that they would be found alive, possibly injured, but alive. But even that wish had proved vain. Letting the fabric fall back into place, Balin found that Dwalin had joined him while he stood looking upon the fallen.

"One of Dain's folk found them, near where Beorn found and carried Thorin away from the battle," Dwalin explained, his voice rough with raw emotion.

"They were good lads," Balin murmured.

"Aye," Dwalin replied.

Embracing his brother, Dwalin dipping his head so that their foreheads touched, Balin found some consolation in their shared grief.

oOo

**Note: I'm sorry for the weird formatting of this one:/ I found it hard to transfer everything properly, and it didn't help that the story was already complicated to follow. For clarification, the parts in italic are flashbacks, and the regular font is a mix of Thorin's perspective (plus his dream) and Balin's perspective. As for the title "These Things Shall Never Die" that's referring to Thorin's quote on loyalty, honor, and a willing heart.**


	3. Some Folk We Never Forget

** III. Some Folk We Never Forget**

The prosperous city nestled cozily within easy travel of the mountain. After being obliterated, the city of Dale flourished, having been restored after long abandon. It hadn't taken long for Bard to rebuild it; the gold Dain had given had proved more than enough, even with rewarding his allies and helping to repair Lake-town, Bard hadn't been short of gold.

People filled its streets with talk and laughter, children once more running about in play. To the north stood the Lonely Mountain, water spilling gracefully down from the front entrance where the re-erected front gate stood open. Trade passed freely between the dwarves and men, like it had been of old. High above the city, in a place that had once been useful for defense but was now a place of honor, stood the windlass: the mechanism that had fired the black arrow. Dragons no longer ravaged Middle-earth, Smaug having been the last, but memories from times when men had to be tougher were still treasured in the relics that had survived.

Glad to be near his journey's end at last, Bilbo urged his pony to hurry down the final slope and into Dale. His escort of elves and people from Lake-town followed him, smiling as they watched an ecstatic smile spread across his face, their hearts warming to see his reaction to seeing Dain and the dwarves who accompanied him.

Forgetting his interest in seeing the rebuilt Dale, Bilbo kicked his feet out of the stirrups and jumped out of the saddle, throwing himself into the welcoming arms of his friends as they reunited.

"Ah, Bilbo lad, it's good to see you!" Dwalin chuckled.

"Mister Baggins, welcome back!" Bofur greeted, clapping the hobbit good-naturedly on the back.

"Our burglar returned to us at long last!" Gloin declared.

Surrounded by arms, almost squeezed to death by hugs, and feeling happier than he had in a long time, many of the welcomes and well wishes from the dwarves passed over Bilbo's head, but he couldn't imagine a better welcome then this. His heart swelled with love for his friends, every trial they had put him through on their first journey being forgiven all over again in his joy at being back.

The only damper to his happiness were the three empty places in the company; Thorin, Fili, and Kili. They were laying in honor in their mountain tombs, buried in the custom of the dwarves, and Bilbo intended to visit them. The other thing to mar his happiness was the absence of Balin. Though hemmed in on every side by dwarves, he had missed seeing the white bearded dwarf among them.

Untangling himself from the group hug, Bilbo stood with his hands on his hips before the dwarves. "Now, let me greet you all properly," he grinned. "A group hug is well enough, but I can't very well take note of how you've all fared if I'm buried under you lot," he reprimanded fondly.

"I agree with Master Baggins," Dain commented, shaking his head in amusement and chuckling softly. "It's rather hard to get a word in edge wise when your tongues are running freely, and we can't easily invite our hobbit friend to come and marvel the wonders of Erebor and stay with us for a spell if nothing can be said."

"And Bombur's waiting to see him," Bofur commented cheerfully.

"Where is Bombur?" Bilbo asked, noticing that the large dwarf was missing. To his concern, he noticed that there were others missing aside from Balin and Bombur; Ori was missing, and Oin too.

"Bombur has trouble leaving the mountain these days," Bofur explained with a laugh. "In fact, he's lucky to even make it out of his room most days."

"Takes six young dwarves to lift him," Nori commented in a stage whisper, eliciting a good chortle of laughter from the group.

"And where's Balin?" Bilbo asked. "And Ori and Oin? Where are they?"

Solemnity fell on the group. "You'll hear in good time," Dain finally answered. "But for now, let's turn to merrier things."

While they had been talking, Bain, son of Bard, had been talking to Bilbo's assorted entourage, inquiring how their travel had been and assuring that the friendship between the people of Dale, Lake-town, and the elves of Mirkwood, was still as strong as ever.

Approaching the venerable hobbit, Bain greeted him courteously. "If the little master is ready, we have a feast prepared for you, I'm sure you must be famished after your travels."

"Ah, Bain, you've changed much since you were a child, but you still remember your hobbit lore," Bilbo replied with a smile. "I dare say I've had my share of feasts during this journey, but I shan't shy from another."

His statement was greeted with a cheer and a laugh from those gathered near, and with Bain leading the way and dwarves all around, they went, with whetted appetites, to appreciate the feast that awaited them.

oOo

Plate empty, stomach satisfied, and his glass only half full, Bilbo relaxed in his chair, picking at a few morsels to 'fill up the corners'. He was ready to turn his mind to other things, in particular, the reason as to why Balin was not there.

As if he was aware of Bilbo's thread of thought, Dain turned to the hobbit. "I promised that you should hear as to why Balin is not with us, and I imagine that you are eager to hear why, and now is a good time for telling."

Gravely, he told Bilbo that Balin had been gone these ten years past, gone to Moria, and Ori and Oin with him. Occasionally they received word from him, informing them of their success in reclaiming the ancient dwarf-kingdom, but letters were few and far between and it had been a while since they'd last heard from him.

Glad to hear that his friend (and the others too) was alive and doing well, Bilbo's only grief was that he wouldn't get another chance to see Balin again. Unless Balin returned from Moria, Bilbo doubted that their paths would ever cross again.

"But what of your own travels Master Baggins? Did you enjoy your second journey here as much as your first?" Dain asked.

Shaking off his sorrow, and silently wishing Balin the best (wherever he was), Bilbo chatted gaily about his travels, telling all who would listen. He didn't mention how the memories had pressed upon him though, every step of the way. Like children coming out from hiding, memories had flocked unbidden to him, reminding him of this scene, or that phrase, or how utterly disgruntled he had been the whole time. It'd been bittersweet to remember, knowing how it had all ended, but Bilbo wouldn't have missed the opportunity to see the sights of his first journey for anything.

Once he finished talking, the dwarves invited him to gaze upon their works and labor to repair the mountain, and Bilbo eagerly accepted. Later, he would explore Dale, but his thoughts were chiefly concerned with seeing Erebor, and until he did not even the grandest Dale had to offer would interest him. And Bilbo had something else that he wanted to do. A visit he had to pay.

oOo

Head swimming with the marvels that he had seen of Erebor, Bilbo walked thoughtfully toward the last place he had yet to see. The work the dwarves had done was truly amazing, a masterpiece compared to the ruin he had first entered when it was still Smaug's abode. If only Thorin could've seen it.

Feet scuffing the ground, the stone smooth, clean, and cold underneath, Bilbo entered the tombs. It hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been there, only the amount of light and the number of people had changed. Picking his way out, with only a dim light filtering in to show him the way, Bilbo approached Thorin's tomb.

Softly running a hand over the smooth stone face of the tomb, Bilbo's voice was low and his smile sad. "Hullo Thorin, I've come back, just as I dreamed I would." Tears rose to his eye, and caught in his throat, but with an inhaled breath he continued, "You should see how beautiful your home is! Your people have done wonderful work in repairing it, it would make you proud. But I've not forgotten our journey; coming back, it all returns to me, everything. I can still see the dragon Smaug vividly in my mind; and that day on the Carrock, when we gazed across the vast distance of Mirkwood and saw the peak of the Lonely Mountain; the merriment of the festivities of Lake-town when they celebrated the return of the King Under the Mountain… it all seems like just yesterday." His hand dropped to his side, his eyes fixing on the middle distance as he strayed through his memories.

Bowing his head, Bilbo breathed deeply, aligning his thoughts before speaking them. "The grass grows over Smaug's desolation, old wounds are healed, and the young grow old, yet I've never forgotten. Nor have your people," he added quickly. "They say that you guard the mountain, keeping it safe from all enemies by warning of their approach." But sorrow pressed on Bilbo's thoughts. As much as Thorin was remembered, so also were Fili and Kili forgotten. All that was remembered of them was that they had been Thorin's sister-sons and heirs, no more for they hadn't lived long enough to make a name for themselves. Bilbo's only consolation to that despairing realization was that he had preserved their memory. In his red book, the book of the west march, "There and Back Again", was recorded the story of his travels with Thorin's company and with it the memory of Fili and Kili. Whispering, he added, "But I haven't forgotten."

Passing his hand once more over the tomb, Bilbo reverently touched the hilt of Orcrist. The naked sword gleamed palely in the wan light on top of Thorin's tomb, where the elf king had laid it when he'd given it back. That was how the mountain was warned of approaching enemies, for in the dark Thorin's sword still glowed in times of danger.

"This will be my last journey, I think," he concluded. "I don't think I'll be returning here again." Brushing his fingertips over Fili and Kili's graves, which lay near Thorin's, he included them in his good-bye. "Farewell my friends," he bid the three, knowing that he would never see them again.

Exiting the mountain, he wandered upon its slopes till he found a place of solitude where no one would disturb him for a while. Gazing across the golden lined roofs of Dale, the sunset painting the scene with its brilliant colors, Bilbo reclined on the grassy mountainside, pipe in hand, and smoke rings making their way away down the wind. Yes, he was done with adventuring; he would return to Rivendell and finish his book at long last. Who knows? Maybe after that, he'd return to the Shire someday, but for now, the wanderlust that had made his feet itch so often was dying away and he was content to find rest. Softly under his breath, he sang, "The road goes ever, on and on…"

* * *

><p><strong>Note: The title for this one "Some Folk We Never Forget" is based off the song lyrics by Neil Finn, and is in reference to Balin (with the fact that he is no longer there at the Lonely Mountain), Thorin, and Fili and Kili (after all, initially that's what started this piece, the death of the Heirs of Durin), and the title also applies to the other dwarves because we don't see very much of them in the LotR. <strong>

** I also wanted to take Bilbo back to the mountain because Tolkien only mentions it, he doesn't show it to us. I believe that Bilbo's return would be a very emotional time for him, what with all that's happened and that he's basically recovering the ground he tread over the first time, and what with the fact that Balin isn't there. For that, I felt that it deserved to be written.**

** Thanks for all the support guys, hopefully you liked it, and most of all, thanks for reading!  
><strong>


	4. Our Lives to Make

**.IV. Our Lives to Make**

Cresting the rise, the doors of Moria came into view, standing proudly, shut fast against any wishing to enter. The ancient dwarf work of their forefather's gloriously preserved, though Sauron's contagion had tainted it. Dipping just below its zenith, the sun's golden rays spilled across the mountainside, the rise of the opposite slope leading to the gate.

Emotions swelling in his breast, untapped sentiments that had intoxicated his dreams of late, Balin gazed upon the entrance to the ancient kingdom with eager eyes. Images of long forgotten treasures, of precious metal, and undiscovered wealth; visions that had been haunting him, stirring his dwarfish greed and lust, clouding his mind.

Softly, from behind him, Oin muttered wonderingly, "Khazad-dum, the realm of Durin!"

"We made it," Ori breathed, reverently, almost disbelieving that it was possible.

Around them, the majestic peaks thrust powerfully into the air, perennial snow draping the tallest mountains, falling in a white sheet from below cloud adorned heads. Indifferent to the party of dwarves who had traveled in their midst, untouched by the excitement that filled them to see their journey's end in sight, they stood as silent sentinels above the underground realm.

Inhaling deeply, satisfaction and impatience filling him, Balin's gaze passed over his companions, reading the enthusiasm in the younger ones' faces, the quiet support of his old friends, Ori and Oin. But most of all, seeing the shared feeling of general relief that was felt by all.

Calling out encouragement, holding an arm aloft, Balin cried, "Come lads! Let's take back what is ours!"

* * *

><p>\\/\\

* * *

><p>AN: Originally a three part collection, I decided to add a couple more scenes after a request on dA. Though short, this one is of Balin arriving at Moria.

Title taken from the lyrics by Neil Finn.

The next scene should be up soon. Thanks for reading!


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